30 December 2006 at 15:36

A couple more days, and the nightmare of forced goodwill comes to a close. The low point so far was, well, I'd rather not talk about it. Except to say that .. no, I refuse to piss myself off by thinking about it.

But you know how some people feel compelled to win at everything they do? For example, if they're playing tennis or something, they sulk if they lose and they crow if they win.

But it's not just playing to win, it's also talking to win. Compulsive winners can't listen, because they're too busy talking over the top of you. Or they approach every conversation as a debate that they have to win, even if they have to invent "facts" or swear that black is white.

So imagine you have a Christmas visitor who

needs to win every conversation, and

needs to win every game of Scrabble

and you get talking with them about Scrabble.

I shouldn't let such things make me crabbit. I've been told that these people are simply insecure. But that's like a guy I knew who used to beat up his wife, and anyone else who got in the way, "because really he's shy". Yes, and Joe Stalin had indigestion. Poor Hitler couldn't sell his paintings.

PS - I'm a part-time hut manager for a writer who may want to network with other writers - he could try authorsblogs.

Like you, I look forward to January 2 so that we all get back to being miserable as sin again. But while the season of 'goodwill' is still extant I battle my way through the ether on an ancient PC which only functions sporadically (and even then very badly)to wish you a happy and prosperous 2007

Adolf! Heil! Nice to see the residual crabbitness arising at the first opportunity. I don't suppose you won then. Anyway, you've already had your New Year, but it's a gale outside now. I'll stay in and have a quiet night watching drunk nutters on the telly falling around up Princes Street! No help to anyone. Hotboy

Hotters, I'm not daft enough to get involved in a game in such circumstances. I'd have to enrol in the Bad Boy Church fellowship Advanced Course in pre-emptive badness. Please send the application form and the 150%discount.

Lee Ann - happy nanbugg year to you, may the year brings you loads of love and good surprises to more than offset the difficult stuff.

Ordinarily I could agree that a competitive guest is not the best guest. But this was Scrabble, for goodness sake- one has to make exceptions. Nizoral is very effective for the dandruff problem. Happy new year to you.

As a kid, my brother and I would play games once in a while. The game would finish in either two ways. He would win, or he would swipe the board game clear of contents if I was winning. I feel your pain...

Happy New Year to you. I am once more safely ensconsed in Kalimbuka after a frightfully long trip home, and Mrs M and myself wish you all the best for 207, and especially that you recover from your crabbiness.

Long discussions about Scrabble pale in comparison to two-hour conversations about wheely-bins, one of which I once had to sit through at a colleague's 'leaving do'.

Adolf! Heil! Let's mock the less fortunate! Here's a joke. Have you unheard of it? The dustman calls in Oz:Where you bin?I bin on holiday.No, where you wheely bin?I wheely bin in prison, but I always tell folk I bin on holiday. Dearie me. Hotboy

lil, lee, eric and MM, thanks, a little empathy goes a long way at this time of year.

MM - In the UnHeard Of calendar, 207 was several years ago. Perhaps you mean a Malawian 2007? I watched a BBC documentary this weekedn, made in 2005 but the end credits stated MMXV - 2015! Bring back proofreaders. My comps to Mrs. M and Dovey.

Happy New Year to you Rob! By the way I am having terrible trouble with your site, can never scroll down beyond your latest post, so can never check if you've responded to my witty comments on previous postings of yours! Wassgoingon??

Adolf! Heil! I wonder what a wi-fi laptop could be. Is this the kind of thing you get in a joint where the barmaids are topless and folk who are not your wifie want to dance on your lap? It wouldn't surprise me one little bit! Hey! If it doesn't have wires, I could use such a thing to blog from the hut when I go there full time! Is this a sublte way of applying for the job of Hut Manager? Be a help if you brought it with you. Hotboy

21 December 2006 at 21:05

December already, and it's been quite a year for us starting in January, with the toaster going on fire on the very morning that Rob had invited some neighbours for tea and toasted buns.

Not the couple on the left of us, who are very nice but play golf most days and import/export alloy car wheels. That couple has 2 fax machines in their front room, and their actual work seems to consist of waiting for the daily incoming fax, which they then tear off and re-fax elsewhere. I'm not sure why they need 2 machines, but I suppose one's for import and the other for export.

Mind you, they've never properly recovered from being burgled one night, when Steve was away for 6 months in Tokyo on business (ahem) and poor Jana had to hide under her bed while the place was ransacked and they lost both the faxes and a photocopier (apologies to Pete and Ethel who already know this). When the burglars had finished, she emerged from hiding and came to our door in distress at 3 a.m. It was a pity that the batteries in our doorbell had run down, and she was much too reserved to bang on our bedroom windows, so it was the next day before we were able to share the excitement.

But back to last January. Rob had invited the couple living on the other side, Jim and Eileen. Rob first met Jim soon after we moved in here. Jim was mowing his front lawn at the time. He looked so much the part with his tattoos, baseball cap and dungarees that Rob assumed he was the gardener and asked how much he'd charge to mow our lawn. To give him his due, he quoted a fair price. And he did make a beautiful job of our lawn. And Jim keeps his ears open so he's the man to know if you want to know what's happening in the street. Burglaries, that sort of thing.

Anyway, I know what you're thinking - how could we toast the buns with a broken machine? Well, with an hour to spare Rob raced to Kmart and found a digital toaster, the last one in the shop, with an LCD screen that tells you how many seconds to go before it pops up (the toast, not the screen, though that wouldn't have surprised us either). And it has extra-wide slots and a special setting for browning muffins! Not that we pretend to understand this technology stuff, but it certainly saved the day, especially as it gave us a topic of conversation over tea while we tried not to mention the lawnmowing incident, and we all agreed we must do it again some time, and I was just saying the other day we should really make the effort at least once more before this toaster breaks too (not that I'm mentioning names, but someone likes to warm their breakfast plate on top of the toaster while it's on, and you can't really get away with that for long on a plastic toaster, can you Kev?) Russell Hobbs would never have used plastic. Or was it Morphy Richards? One of those people, British "know-how", you could roast a whole meal in their toasters if you wanted without problems.

In March, we were delighted to receive the news that Rob's old "chum" Richard from the Glasgow days was touring Australia, when we would sadly be out of the country ourselves. (Sorry about that Richard, but the neighbours said you were very comfortable in the garden, and do please let us know next time you're in this hemisphere.)

But no Christmas newsletter would be complete without The Big Trip. In May, the mountain bikes were overhauled and pumped up for Rob and Kev's camping trip to the Blue Mountains in Australia, possibly the first instance of a mountain bike actually being used in the mountains. Now, many people claim to find two-and-a-half-million acres of eucalyptus and dry scrub boring, but the area actually abounds with natural fauna. Rob had never seen, for example, so many different species of fly, thanks to his decision to dig the "latrines" so close to the tents.

But enough of our lives here. It's sometimes easy to forget that there's more to life than mulching the azaleas. It was with great sadness that 1000s of innocent civilians were slaughtered in the middle east, as the price of freeing the world from tyranny. Thank God that in every tragedy there is a silver lining. On the very day that the civil war officially began, little Oscar achieved a B+ in Grade Three electric guitar! And with Rob accompanying him on the ukulele while the dog howls in ecstasy, there's not many a visitor to "Chez Rob" who doesn't leave feeling they haven't been right "royally" entertained.

Arguably the low point of the year came when Rob brought home some new "high tech" dental floss, teflon-coated so that it slides between your teeth. It actually works so well that it's unusable. You can't grip it unless you wind half the packet round your fingers! What's the point of that?

December is the time of year when we reflect on the past, and our dreams for a better world. Rob had a great dream last week, in which he discovered a long lost 13th episode of Fawlty Towers. If only he could remember the actual script, it could be worth a fortune.

But look at the time! The shops close in 25 minutes and it's my turn to pick up the prawns this year, and I daren't buy them from the local fishmonger again after what happened last year or my name will be mud in this house, well not mud exactly, but that's another story, suffice to say that the German word, "durchfall" means literally "fallthrough". So we'll have to tell you the rest next year. For instance there's a couple we know, where one of them wanted to use a condom but the other one hates condoms, so they reached a compromise by cutting the end off. Hope you don't mind waiting another year.

Joyous tidings to you and yours, from "all of us" in the "UnHeard Of" Islands.

If you missed previous HNTs, you can access all the old half baked thursday posts here.

This is a freelance Taoist blog.Every true story contains a wee lie.And every lie contains a grain of truth.

Adolf! Zeig! Is this your longest ever toast... post? Have you toasted your bum before? What for? Wonderfully, naturally condescending to the working classes, of course. Homoerotic too, obviously. Perhaps your cross dressing friend, who visited when you weren't there, and the man with the tattoos could have done a bit of wrestling on the newly manicured lawn. Got you now! Sing when you're glad to be gay, Adolf! Sing away! That would definitely help! Hotboy

19 December 2006 at 20:51

I took the plunge today and actually paid for some new software. That's a first. The program is a video editor, Sony Vegas. Because I'm an anal nerd, the first thing I did when I got it home was to read the whole 70-page manual.

Each feature I read about, I found myself shaking my head in wonder: "that's exactly the way I would have designed the program," or "that's something I've always wanted to do with other editors, but they didn't allow it."

Tomorrow, actually using the program is probably going to be even more exciting than reading about it. What a fortunate creature I am! I'm already planning a new HNT-movie that's unlike anything you've ever seen (or would want to see, perhaps).

Excuse my raving, Cap'n Kev was in port today, smoking his home-grown medicinal leaves. He grows them on one of the uninhabited islands, then lands there once a year when nobody's about.

Just the smell seems to have done homeopathic things to my brain. The darling Haydn CD sounds like it never did before. How is it possible to love someone you've never met who's been dead for centuries? What a fortunate creature I am, but you knew that already.

PS - next day I checked this post and was dismayed to find not a single comment. I never aspired to be an A-lister, but sudden demotion from Y-list to Z-list is a little disheartening. But then I remembered - I'm using comment moderation to catch the spammers. No wonder the comments weren't showing. What an idiot I am!

Sure enough, there were 2 new comments from keda and ion, in amongst the spam, waiting for release. And hotboy's sure to call in later. A fortunate creature after all!

ion - the unheard of dog says thanks, but she's not enjoying the thought of soon appearing on the web with a giant ruff collar round her head. And she says to tell wee wan not to lick the combination steroid/antibug/lignocaine ointment off her legs, it tastes bad. And coming from someone who eats shit, that can't be a commendation.

Adolf! Heil! Is this the job application? I think it is! Well done on reading a manual. I couldn't do that! The job starts in the spring when I'm just starting to be rich and famous. If you can keep me in the hut for twelve years, I should be able to zap you with ra bliss. It's the only chance you've got. And it would balance up. I hope this helps. Hotboy

Adolf! Heil! I see you've been looking in the right places! Loserville, where I live. How's about: Mid fifties, nae viagra, likes pretending he's younger, would like to fondle and then move on. Tons of ra bliss! How's about it? But it's how I got an agent, so it might help a bit! Hotboy

14 December 2006 at 15:27

Obviously I can't show you my Christmas tree. I'm down in the bottom left part of the world, where it's summer now. But down here we still know how to relax for the holidays.

It all started when I saw a documentary about tribes of people living by the sea in Malaysia, and it seemed they have the perfect lifestyle. The film inspired me to work less and play more, and eventually to come and live here in the Pacific.

On the east coast of Malaysia, the only work the menfolk ever do is go out fishing once a week when they're hungry. The rest of their time they get dressed up in their finery, and compete to see who can spin a 10-pound top for longest. Some of these these ornate traditional tops can spin for more than 2 hours at a time. What a great way to spend your life!

Here's a rude clickypic of me on a Scottish beach, back in the days when I was still learning how to do nothing.

Click the clickypic to zoom out

I have switched on comment moderation, as I'm getting so many spam comments.

If you missed previous HNTs, you can access all the old half baked thursday posts here.

My mother is Malaysian (Eurasian) I was born there but left for the UK when I was 10. I went back for the first and only time in 2003 for 18 days and we rented a house by the beach on the east coast. It WAS beautiful and pretty untouched by commercialism, but not so relaxing if you're a western female. The east coast state we were in was fairly fundamentalist, and you never saw any women on the local beach or in the restaurants. Would love to go back but would probably stick to the areas I knew as a child(Seremban, KL, Pangkor island Cameron Highlands etc)

I was so sidetracked by that movie-clip, and the wait to see if Southern Africa was mentioned at all, that I completely forgot why I came here in the first place.

I came to ask you what your current opinion on prosopagnosia was. I ask this because I was down near the market the other day (not the most salubrious part of Zomba), and Cabbage came staggering out of a bottle-store, walked straight past me without recognising me, an continued down the road. He later claimed not to have recognised me at all.

07 December 2006 at 07:49

On Saturday I travelled 2 hours each way to an all-day party. I hate parties, the only reason I went was that one of the organisers was planning to take all the dog-owners for a beach walk and swim.

When I got to the party, many people claimed to want to go for the walk, but nobody could decide what to do. Everyone kept asking everyone else if they wanted to go. After enduring half an hour of this consensus-based (nonsensus-based) decision-making, I took off on my own with the dog and a book, and lay on the beach while the dog chased waves. Now that's my kind of party.

The picture is from another island and another century, but you get the idea.

Later I discovered that the organiser had indeed eventually led some people on the walk, but he gave them the slip on the way to the beach. Which mental disorder is that?

If you missed previous HNTs, you can access all the old half baked thursday posts here.

Adolf! Heil! What kind of mental disorder does your dog have? Is it a blue healer? Does it try to catch sparks flying off the barbie? I mean, it sounds daft. Why don't you get yourself a hound? Good ones just lie about. A decent dog would help. Hotboy

Adolf! Zeigy! There are things falling down your bloggy. Cross things. Why do they look like pluses? Anyway, it's not me. Have you spent time doing this? You need a proper job, Adolf! Hut Management is the game for you! The blindfolded mother on the hamster wheel, the interior castle in the hut, the howling at the moon. How much would you pay? I think I could clean up here! Hotboy

Adolf! Zeigy! There are things falling down your bloggy. Cross things. Why do they look like pluses? Anyway, it's not me. Have you spent time doing this? You need a proper job, Adolf! Hut Management is the game for you! The blindfolded mother on the hamster wheel, the interior castle in the hut, the howling at the moon. How much would you pay? I think I could clean up here! Hotboy

05 December 2006 at 11:45

Keda was blogging about a religious zealot who told her that god loved her. I won't specify which god - there's enough trouble in the world already.

Nice that he meant well with the god stuff, but why do zealots of any religion assume you're interested in hearing their pronouncements? Why not keep their hobbies to themselves? I mean, I don't go around ranting about my home brewing, and about everything balancing up. Well yes, I do it here, but this is my space. Okay, I also do it at other blogs, but as I was saying:

I once taught a student who spent most of his college time browsing fundamentalist web sites. I spent extra time helping him, so he decided to do me the favour of showing me some web sites that explain about the umpteen levels of hell. Smiling, he said "the worst level, that's the one that's reserved for you heathens." There was no malice in it, he thought he was helping me, but it didn't help.

I tried to be religious for years,trying to believe that the church knew something I didn't. Then I learned it knows nothing. It is all about their own private God written in an old book by men. So now I believe in my own God and never speak of it to anyone. Hell is within us, just like God is. and that's all there is.

Adolf! Heil! Since the sole member of the Amazing Bloggy Church of the Bad Boy Blissheid is me, and I'm not recruiting, you're not getting in! People who believe in things and think they know stuff ... well, they'll never get ra bliss! Oh, they'll never get ra bliss! EE, Aye, Adio, they'll never get ra bliss! The only "religious" question worth asking is: Can you or can you not, do ra bliss? I'm afraid there's no help in staying a flatheid! Hotboy